


I don't break hearts (I destroy them)

by rowenabane



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Film Noir, M/M, Minor Violence, Revenge, Vampires, extensive knowledge about pool, ha can u tell I've never been in a bar EVER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 09:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18008483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenabane/pseuds/rowenabane
Summary: Ten is looking for revenge. Hopefully, the stranger at the pool table doesn't know that.





	I don't break hearts (I destroy them)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andnowforyaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/gifts).



> this is for yaya, an amazing writer and amazing person!!! she is so talented and sweet and even though this is kinda short I did it for her <3 happy birthday yaya!!!!!
> 
> title from destroyer by saint motel

There are gods here, and that is what Ten is afraid of.

The bar is a dimly lit haven of smoke and dimmed forms, voices blurred by alcohol and chatter with no sense. He doesn’t try to make heads or tails of it; instead he just searches the crowd for a face he has not seen.

There’s a man sitting by the pool table, delicately sipping something out of a clouded glass. His cue stick balances between his fingers, and he holds it as if it was the most fragile of flowers, or the deadliest of swords. Ten cannot tell.

The man smiles at Ten and cocks his head. His jacket is a shimmering red color and his hair is tousled around his face. He has an almost deceptive air of youth around him, but there is something that speaks of age, of undying, of too much time spent on this earth. Ten steps forward into the yellow light of the lamp hanging over the pool table, returning the stranger’s grin.

“Would you like to play?” The man says carelessly, rubbing chalk at the end of his cue stick. His gaze is heavy, expectant.

Ten grins, grab a cue stick of his own. He twirls it in his hand, the wood whistling. “Of course.”

…

 The voices in the bar are a muted din. There aren’t too many people, now- just the night owls. The neon lights above the pool table flash, but no one joins them. It is just him, and the stranger.

“What’s your name?” Ten says, pushing back against the wall. He leans down, eye level with the table.

“Kun,” the man says, sipping from his glass. He hasn’t refilled it, but almost nothing is gone. It would seem almost as if he isn’t drinking anything at all. “Yours?”

“Ten,” Ten says, leveling the cue stick across the table, it rests between his fingers, unmoving. There is a snap, and a crack, and the eight ball spirals across the table and bounces off the edge. Ten exhales. He isn’t here to win.

“Ten?” Kun laughs. “Interesting name. Is it short for something?”

“No,” Ten says, stepping back. “Just a nickname.”

Kun drags a finger along the edge of his glass. There is a rubbing sound, a low tone as the glass vibrates, and it is almost like a sob. Ten blinks, exhales. Kun smiles.

“My turn,” he says, setting down the glass.

…

 “I had a friend who was really good at pool,” Ten says, chalking the end of his pool stick. “He used to come down this way a lot.”

“Oh?” Kun says, raising an eyebrow. “Does he still play?”

“I can’t be sure,” Ten says, pausing, “I haven’t seen him in quite a while.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Kun murmurs. His voice has taken on a low tone, sly and seductive. It is like a hand pressed against Ten’s cheek, and Ten blinks. Exhales. “It’s always sad when friends leave us.”

Ten stares at him, and Kun’s smile is like a dangerous lullaby. He blinks. Exhales. Returns Kun’s smile with a knowing smirk of his own.

“Oh, I know,” he says.

…

 “Want to make a bet?” Kun says, sipping from his glass as Ten resets the balls, placing them in the triangle at one end of the table.

“Sure,” Ten says. “What are you betting?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What do you have?”

“I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re asking,” Ten says, laughing lightly. “I’m broke.”

“I guess that makes two of us,” Kun says. He’s silent for a moment, deep in thought. “How about this, then: if I win, you have to do whatever I want.”

“And if I win?” Ten asks, curiosity piqued.

Kun laughs. “You won’t.”

…

 Kun is right: it is very unlikely that Ten will win. Kun is a flawless player, and the cue balls simply sail into their pockets. Ten is a good pool player, but he isn’t that good.

Kun smirks at him over the rim of his glass as the balls simply roll across the table, bouncing off each other. Ten groans lightheartedly. He twirls the cue stick in his hands and Kun watches the movement, bemused.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Kun asks, gesturing. “The twirling.”

“A friend taught me.” The words are calm, cool, collected. Kun shrugs.

“Neat trick.” His smile is like a viper’s, the words slithering over Ten’s skin.

_Ha,_ Ten thinks. _If only he knew._

…

 The hour is late, and the night is a vast plain outside the windows. People trickle out, one by one, until the only people left are Ten and the bartender and of course, Kun, who has has shed his red jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He squints and, soft as an exhale, knocks the cue ball into another and sends it whistling into a corner pocket. He wipes his forehead, but he is not sweating.

Ten is losing. This is his last shot, and he lacks the points needed to surpass Kun’s lead. Technically, he’s already lost.

Ten leans over the table, eyeing the cue ball. There is a smack and the ball ricochets over the wood, hitting one ball into its pocket. Game over.

Kun claps once, slowly. The bartender casts a lazy glance in their direction, but continues to clean glasses.

“You’ve lost,” Kun says. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that arrogance isn’t a personality trait?” Ten says, spinning the cue stick in his hands. It’s almost weightless, a baton of wood. Kun eyes the movement and a crease forms between his eyes. It’s gone in the second it appeared, and Ten blinks, wondering if he’s seeing things.

“No one has ever dared,” Kun says, setting down his now empty glass. There is a heavy clink, then silence.

“So what is it that you want?” Ten asks, fingers curling around the cue stick.

Kun thinks for a moment, tapping the table with graceful fingers. “A kiss,” he says slowly, eyes glinting. “Maybe something more.” There is something dark in his smile, something like oil slicking beneath the surface of a stream. Ten can’t quite tell what it is before it shimmers out of view.

Kun raises a hand, and the bartender leaves the bar, heading straight out of the front door. Ten frowns, then cocks his head. Exhales. Kun leans forward, but Ten dips out of reach.

“You know, that’s kind of funny,” he says, balancing on the edge of the pool table. “Do you say that to everyone?”

Kun blinks. “Of course not,” he says, grinning. “You’re special.”

“Really?” Ten challenges, turning his back to Kun. There’s a mirror handing over the pool table and Ten can see what he’s known all along - Kun isn’t reflected in the glass. He isn’t reflected in anything at all - not the tumbler he was sipping out of, not the mirror, not in the linoleum of the floor. Ten turns around. “Did you say that to my friend, too?”

Kun frowns. “I don’t know who-”

“Oh, you know who I’m talking about,” Ten says, grip tightening on the cue stick. “Thin kid, real nice. Good pool player. He had blond hair, then.”

Kun is silent, but his gaze is questioning. Wait, no - there’s something beneath that outside curiosity, something evil. A veiled darkness, a web to catch flies.

“His name was Sicheng,” Ten continues. “He came up this way to visit family and then disappeared. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” The words have an acid to them, a bite that takes as much out of Ten as it does out of Kun’s innocence. Kun throws his head back and laughs once, harshly, the sound grating across the walls.

“Of course I remember Sicheng,” Kun says, stepping closer. “He put up quite the fight.” Kun pauses, then smiles. “But I always win in the end.”

“What did you do to him,” Ten says, voice hushed. It isn’t a question.

Kun grins, grabs his glass off the table and rolls it between his fingers. He rubs the rim and there is that low sound, like a groan or a sob and Ten wants to scream. “What do you think?” He puts the glass down. “I killed him.”

Ten knew the answer, always knew, but the truth still hits him like a physical blow to the stomach. He feels winded, feels wronged.

“But of course, that was years ago,” Kun says slyly. “I almost forgot.” There’s mirth in his voice, but it is twisted, it is awful and evil and cold. “But I knew there was something familiar about you. That twirling trick-” Kun says, picking up his cue stick. “Your friend did that, too.”

Ten can feel rage boiling beneath his skin. It’s all-consuming, this anger, and Ten has to grab the edge of the table to restrain himself from leaping over it. 

“Why,” he grinds out. “He never did anything to you!” 

Kun shrugs. “None of them ever did,” he says. “But I do what I have to do to survive.” He smiles and instead of teeth there are fangs in his mouth, sharp and awful. Ten takes step back but there is only the wall and his maddening heartbeat.

“I’ve been doing this for a very long time,” Kun says, walking around the table. His fingers trail across the green felt. “The faces begin to blur. The game used to be cards, used to be chess. But I like pool better.”

“How long,” Ten croaks out. His voice has abandoned him.

“200 years,” Kun says. “Give or take 50.”

Ten closes his eyes. Exhales. When he opens his eyes, he is not just angry. He is _vengeful._

“Why the game?” Ten asks. “If you knew what I was talking about, why I was here, why didn’t you just kill me? Drain me dry?”

“I need the game because I need permission,” Kun says, chalking his cue stick. Ten can’t see why he’s doing it - they are playing a a different type of game now. “I can’t just kill someone. There are rules.”

The bet. Ten inwardly groans, but on the outside he smiles.  “I guess you’ll kill me then.”

“Maybe,” Kun muses. “More likely than not.”

Kun is fast, moving like a blur in the yellow lamplight. The lamp sways from the ceiling and suddenly there is a hand on Ten’s throat and he is flying through the air onto his back. There is a crack as he lands on the table and he flounders for a second, gasping as Kun drives a knee into his chest. His weight settles above Ten, an immovable object.

“If it’s any consolation,” Kun says. “He didn’t suffer.” His hand is still tight around Ten’s throat, but there is something softer in his eyes. Something like sadness.

“Fuck you,” Ten snaps.

The soft look disappears, replaced by frosty anger. There is movement and suddenly Kun’s mouth is at the base of his throat and there is pain like Ten could never have imagined. He opens his mouth to scream but no sound comes out. His vision winks out at the corners and all of a sudden his mind is a blank, blurred haze. It’s like he’s floating, numb, and can’t sense anything at all.

He grasps something on the table, the thin wood slipping between his fingers. On instinct, he twirls the cue stick and breaks it over Kun’s head, wood pieces splintering apart. Kun gasps and draws back and Ten takes the broken edge and rams it into his side, right beneath his ribs. Kun looks at him, shocked, as Ten pushes him off and onto the ground. There is a clatter as cue balls crack against the tile and glass shatters on the floor.

Kun pulls the bloody end of the cue stick out of his side, and the wound knits itself together. He grins, but this time his mouth is stained red. There is a blur, and he simply plucks the other end of the pool stick out of Ten’s hand.

“Nice try, but better luck next time,” he says, voice a creature in the night. His eyes are wild. “I win.”

The cue stick comes down with a crack, and Ten spirals into darkness.

...

 “Well, did you kill him?” Doyoung asks, polishing a glass that has long since been shined to perfection. He has owned this bar for a very, very long time. Almost as long, one would say, as Kun has been inhabiting it. “You’re always so messy.”

Kun looks at the body splayed across the floor and shakes his head. “No,” he says, sighing. He looks longingly into the glass dangling between his fingers. “I wasn’t in the mood.”

“Well, you have to do _something_ about him,” Doyoung says, chiding him. “There’s vengeance in those veins. You know he’ll go looking for you.” He places the cup beneath the counter and grabs another.

“I know,” Kun says wistfully. He grins, teeth bared and bloody. No one has ever been able to wound him, get past him. Ten has something he hasn't seen in a very, very long time.

Kun has always loved a challenge.

"I know he'll come back," Kun says, smiling. He takes another sip, eyes dancing with the yellow glow of the lamp. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday yaya!! mwah
> 
> hmu!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/nastaeyong)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/nastaeyong)


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